Lord Tyger

by Philip José Farmer

  "We?" Ras said. "Igziyabher is we?"

  "That's the way the story--a true one--is told. Don't interrupt, child," Mariyam had said. "So Igziyabher became angry, and He sent down a flood, and it drowned all the builders of the tower.

  "That is why the lake is there. Once the land was dry, but now it is a valley filled up with water. And the skulls of the proud builders look up from the mud and see you as you swim above them."

  Ras had shivered and said, "But the pillar. How can people build a solid pillar of rock? A tower, you say?"

  "Igziyabher turned the tower to solid rock so that it would stand forever as a reminder to people, and especially to mocking, big-mouthed, empty-headed boys, to bear themselves humbly and fearfully before Him."

  Now Ras was thinking about this story, told so many years ago but now sounding in his ears as if just told and seen inside his eyes, as if it had just taken place. He heard the chop-chop-chop of the Bird of God's wings, and looked up. It was rising from its hidden nest on top of the pillar of rock, the one-time tower built by the men who would storm Heaven.

  Then it was flying across the lake toward him. Presently it was high above him, then past him, and its shadow flitted across the water a few yards from him. Squinting against the sun, Ras turned to watch it. It continued at the same height until it disappeared behind the trees. He estimated that it had descended to a place about three miles from where he stood.

  For a moment, he thought of paddling back to shore and running through the forest to find it. What was it doing so near? Why had it come down so close? Or had it? Perhaps it was just hovering near the ground, as it sometimes did, apparently so that the angel in its belly could observe more closely whatever it was interested in.

  Probably it would be as futile now to try to get close to the Bird as it had always been. Every time he had sneaked through the brush to spy on it, the Bird had risen high before he could get near to it. So why make another attempt?

  Besides, now that the Bird was off on its mysterious errand, its nest was unguarded.

  Ras paddled to the base of the pillar and circled it. The rock was black and shiny and smooth when seen from a distance, but when he was close, he could see many little holes in the blackness. Its surface was like the armor of a giant black beetle when seen through the magnifying glass Mariyam had given him on his tenth birthday.

  Ras went around and around the base. On the east side, the leeward, about seven feet above the water, the rock bulged. The bulge was slight, but its upper part did form a slanting ledge. There was enough extension for Ras to pull himself up onto it if he gripped the stone edge very tightly, and he could then stand on the ledge if he pressed closely against the rock. He had tried it many times; most of his attempts to get on it had resulted in his slipping and a fall backward into the lake. If he did not get onto the ledge at the first try, he had an even more difficult time thereafter, because his hands were wet. After every fall, he had to get into the dugout without tipping it over. Then he had to wait until his hands were dry before leaping up from the pitching boat again. But once he was on the ledge and upright, he could find other minute gripping-places. Once, he had gotten forty feet before he had slipped and fallen off. That time, though he had twisted to enter the water vertically, his hands before him, he had just missed hitting the edge of the dugout.

  Yusufu and Mariyam had known about his fall. He had never found out how they knew. They had not left the house beneath the tree house, and they could not see him from it. But they lectured him savagely about his climb, and Yusufu had whipped him. Apparently, Igziyabher had notified them in His mysterious way.

  Now he considered trying again at the same place. He was stronger than when he had tried a year before, although he was also heavier. But he felt more confident, and the Bird was not around. Why not try again?

  The only trouble was that the Bird might come back while he was part way up. He would wait until it went westward, and then take a chance that it had gone to report to Igziyabher and so would not return for some time.

  There was one drawback to the plan. He had made up his mind to find Igziyabher, Who was God and also his Father. Igziyabher alone could answer his questions. There was no reason why His son should wait until Igziyabher decided to come down from the skies to talk to him. Ras was tired of waiting for answers. Why eat darkness when a banquet of light was on Igziyabher's table?

  If only he could build a trap for the Bird and catch it! Then he would force it to answer his questions. He would force the angel in its belly to talk to him, as he had forced Gilluk, the Sharrikt king, when he had imprisoned him for six months after rescuing him from the Wantsos. Perhaps, instead of wandering westward through the world, he could ride in the Bird's belly to the house of Igziyabher.

  Deciding that the climb of the pillar would have to come later, he paddled the dugout back to the eastern shore. He had just beached the boat when he heard the chopping of wings and the muted roaring again, and the Bird appeared above him. It was at least five hundred feet high and rising swiftly toward the top of the pillar. He was glad that he had decided not to climb that day.

  Ras walked slowly homeward. He dreaded the pleas and threats when he told Yusufu and Mariyam that he was really leaving. This time, he would not argue. He would inform them of his determination, pick them up and kiss them good-bye, and then walk out. They must understand that he was a man now. He could no longer tolerate being treated as a child.

  Then there was Wilida. If it had not been for the appearance of the strange, stiff-winged bird, he would have stolen her from the cage on the islet. She would have gone with him to live in the house he would have built for her on the plateau. And, in time, he would have introduced her to Mariyam and Yusufu. They would have screamed and cursed, but they would have had to accept her. If they loved him, and they did, they would have to love her, too.

  He tried not to think about the possibility of her refusing to go with him. She did love him; he knew that. But meeting him secretly in the bush was not the same as leaving her village. Although she could take delight in him, love him, would she go to the Land of the Ghosts with him?

  She had said that she would die if she were separated from her people. She would close her eyes, and she would close her heart, too, and she would stop living. Any Wantso would die. Exile was a punishment worse than being thrown to the crocodiles or burned to death.

  The other women had said the same thing when he had half-jokingly asked them if they would come to live with him. They desired his love-making, but they did not want anything to do with him beyond that.

  He had even considered trying to get accepted as a Wantso. If he could live in the village, be a Wantso, then Wilida could have both him and her people. But that was before he understood how deeply the men hated him. Even if he had not offended them with his uncrippled virility and his seduction of their women, they would not have accepted him. He was forever a stranger. And though he could have erased some of their fear of him as a ghost, he still would always make them uneasy. He would always be a ghost.

  No matter, he thought. If Wilida loves me as much as I love her, she will come with me.

  Together, we'll go look for Igziyabher.

  At least, I'll ask her if she will.

  He walked past a big tree into the clearing where the two houses were. He stopped. A little bird with a green body, black wings, white neck, and red head seemed to be frozen in its flight across the clearing.

  There was a thump as his heart began to beat again, slowly, slowly.

  The little brown body on the ground at the foot of the steps to the veranda, the body on its back, arms outflung, jaw dropped, eyes open, an arrow sticking from its heart--that body was Mariyam's.

  For a long time thereafter, Ras seemed to move slowly and with difficulty, as if he were an insect caught in sap flowing from a wound in a tree. He held Mariyam, still warm, the blood around the wound not yet dried, and rocked her back and forth. Her head lolled with each movem
ent. He hurt, but the hurt was as cold as the water far below the surface of the lake. It was there but had not thawed yet.

  Then, when he quit trying to wake her up, he left her to look for Yusufu. He called for him and searched the house on the ground and the house in the tree and then wandered through the forest while loudly speaking Yusufu's name.

  Finally, he lurched back to Mariyam and sat down with her in his arms again and rocked back and forth.

  The sun began to climb down from the zenith before he quit holding her. He examined the arrow. It was Wantso, made of lemonwood painted black and red and with four feathers from a green-tailed bird, and the copper head bound with a yellow strip of skin from a golden mouse.

  The numbness went away. Guilt filled its place. He yelled and wept with grief and remorse. The Wantso had come here and killed his mother because he had angered them with his seductions and his mocking songs. They had been so furious that they had conquered their fear of the Land of the Ghosts and had come after him into it. They had not found him, but they had found Mariyam. And they must have taken Yusufu with them. They would save him for torture.

  Perhaps the Wantso had not yet left. Perhaps they were out in the forest now, hoping to ambush him. Or they might be creeping up on him.

  He rose with the arrow in his hand, and he howled, "Come on out, Wantso men! I will kill you all!"

  There was no answer. Monkeys chattered. A bird clut-clut-clutted. Far away, a fish-eagle screamed.

  He looked for tracks in the hard-packed earth under the tree. There were none except his freshly made prints. The Wantso had used branches to wipe away the imprints in the light dust. The ground around the clearing had been similarly treated. Evidently, the Wantso did not want him to be able to catch up with them while they were in his territory.

  The sun was sliding toward the tops of the cliffs now. Ras carried Mariyam into the forest until he found a place where the earth was soft. It was near the foot of a hill where rain had been collected in a pool for a long time but had almost dried away. He dug with his knife and scooped out dirt with his hands until he had a hole two feet deep. Weeping, he placed Mariyam in it, but kissed her cheek before lowering her. He put her on her side, her knees drawn up against her stomach. Then he threw dirt until she was covered. He held the last handful of dirt for a long time. A small patch of skin was still visible, and it seemed that when that was gone, she would also be gone with no hope of her ever coming back.

  Then he dropped the dirt, and she was gone.

  The rest of the day he looked for large stones and did not finish piling them on the grave until after dusk. Satisfied that no scavengers could dig down to her, he left.

  In the tree house, he cleaned off the point of the Wantso arrow and put it in his quiver. The arrow would return to the Wantso.

  He was not able to get to sleep until shortly before dawn. He wept and moaned and called for Mariyam many times. The sun rose, and Ras with it. He shaved; as he did every morning. The mirror showed him a red-eyed, haggard face. He ate some dried meat and fruit. He put the comb and the mirror in the antelope-hide bag. After he had sharpened his knife on the whetstone, he put the stone into the bag. Before descending, he scanned the forest. Even in his grief, he had not forgotten that the Wantso might still be hoping to ambush him, although he doubted that they would dare to stay overnight in the Land of the Ghosts.

  It was logical for them to take Yusufu with them and expect Ras to come after them. They would lie in wait for him somewhere below the plateau. Or they might have taken Yusufu back to the village, where they would feel safer, and where Yusufu could be tortured.

  Ras had gone only a mile when he saw Janhoy sneaking through the bushes toward him. He did not feel like playing the stalking game with the lion, so he called out to him. Janhoy was very disappointed; his eyes looked hurt. Ras petted him and roughed him up a bit. He told Janhoy, "You cannot go with me today. You would be a hindrance; also, you could get hurt. I could not bear to lose you, too, Janhoy. You are too dear to me."

  The lion insisted on going with him. Even when they reached the steep cliffs at the edge of the plateau, the lion tried to follow him down. Ras shouted at him and threw stones and presently Janhoy scrambled back up from a ledge to the top of the cliff.

  At the bottom of the cliffs, Ras looked back up. Janhoy's big nose and hurt eyes were still visible.

  "I will be back!" Ras shouted.

  He was worried about Janhoy. Although the lion had been taught how to hunt by Ras and Yusufu, he had a difficult time getting enough to eat by his own efforts. Aside from leopards, antelopes, hogs, and gorillas, no large game existed on the plateau. There had been a few zebras when Ras was younger, but these had been eaten out by the leopards. Janhoy did kill a hog now and then. Antelopes were not easy for a single lion to catch, and leopards were too fast and agile for Janhoy. He was so accustomed to gorillas, having been taken as a cub to them by Ras, that he classed them with Yusufu, Mariyam, and Ras. They were not-meat.

  If Ras and Yusufu had not occasionally hunted antelope for him, or with him, he would have starved to death. Now, what would he do with his only support gone?

  He would have to get by, somehow.

  8

  THE BURNING OF EVIL

  A half mile into the jungle, Ras stopped. The thought of Janhoy starving was almost too painful to bear. Yet, he could not climb back up the cliffs and take time to hunt an antelope or hog to hold the lion until he returned. Yusufu needed him. He might be tortured at this moment. Ras shook his head and went on.

  From the foot of the plateau-cliffs, where the river cataracted, it was five miles straight to the Wantso village. The river curved back and forth so much that its length from falls to village was ten miles. Ras took the straight line, trotting where the bush was not too thick, going from branch to branch where the trees were close enough--a slow method of progress because of his weight--and swimming across the river whenever it blocked his path. It was fifteen straight miles from the tree house to the Wantso village, but he traveled twenty-two because of unavoidable detours. The sun was settling down like a big, golden-red bird in its nest. He decided that he would kill a monkey and eat before going on. Hunger would be draining his strength so swiftly that he would not be very effective when he got to the village.

  At this time, he came across a path much used by the Wantso. About to step out onto it, he heard footsteps. He withdrew into the bush just in time to avoid being seen. Gubado, the old harpist, was trotting along with a little bow and quiver, used for small game, on his back. He held a dead spotted rat in one hand and a spear in the other and two square white things between his teeth. They fluttered in the wind made by Gubado's passage.

  The old man had found two Letters from God.

  Ras stepped out from behind a bush a few feet before the old man. Gubado stopped. His jaw fell open; his eyes widened. The papers curved toward the ground. Ras gestured with his knife and started to ask him about Yusufu. Gubado dropped the rat and the spear and clutched at his chest. His head was thrown back and his face was twisted. He staggered backward, his mouth working soundlessly. Then he said, "Uh-uh-uh!" and fell backward and lay still.

  Ras knelt by the corpse. "Old man, I had not meant to harm you. I know that you were too old and weak to go with the warriors that killed my mother. And I loved to hear your harp when I listened to you out in the bush. In fact, I made my own harp and learned to play it, remembering how you plucked the strings."

  He began to cut away at Gubado's neck.

  "But then, if you had been young enough, you would have been with the killers, perhaps the killer himself. And, remembering this, I would have killed you if your fear had not stopped your heart."

  The flesh gave way easily enough to the knife. The neckbones were not so easy. After he had hacked and sawed through the spinal cord, Ras cleaned his knife and sharpened it on the whetstone. Gubado's dull eyes stared up at him.

  Ras said, "Do not reproach me, old man. You wou
ld have done the same to me if you had been able."

  He put the knife in its scabbard and picked up the papers. By now, it was too dark to read, the moon had not yet come up, so he folded the papers and put them in his bag. He picked the head up by the right cone of hair and walked swiftly along the path. Before he had gone ten yards, he heard a roar behind him.

  "Janhoy!"

  He turned back and traveled a hundred yards. There was the great beast, still roaring.

  "Hush!" Ras said. "You will notify the Wantso."

  He patted the mane of Janhoy, who rubbed against him, and purred loudly. Janhoy followed him as far as the corpse of Gubado, where the lion stopped. Saliva ran from his jaws.

  "So you managed to get down the cliffs? You must be half goat, you clumsy monster. Now, what will I do with you? You are the ghost, not I, haunting me and encumbering me."

  It was too late and too dark to hunt. Janhoy would have to go hungry until dawn and perhaps after that. Yusufu had to be rescued, if possible. If not, he must be revenged.

  Janhoy was now creeping toward Gubado's headless body. Ras hesitated, then said, "Eat, Janhoy. There is nothing else for you, and it will keep you occupied while I am gone."

  He did not like the idea of encouraging the lion to eat human flesh. However, there seemed nothing else for Janhoy to do.

  But Janhoy, though hungry, seemed doubtful. He wanted to eat Gubado, but he also did not think he should. He sniffed at the body and then, swiftly, licked some blood off the neck. After a glance at Ras, as if to see his reaction, Janhoy settled down on the body and began to tear away at it.

  Ras swung into the bush so he would not come near Janhoy, because he did not want him to think he had designs on Gubado. The lion was so hungry that, now he was in the first stages of eating, he might violently resent even Ras's approach to his food. Ras walked rapidly down the path, and soon the windings of the trail cut off the sound of ripping flesh.